A Trio of Anonymous Poems

A Trio of Anonymous Poems

While The Maze in its hard-copy edition will not publish anonymous poetry, we at the online Maze are not quite so stringent. Plus, we thought these were really good, and after a long and tortuous debate–if debate it can be called that includes throwing water balloons, blowing kazoos loudly in other peoples’ ears, and certain faculty advisors holding their breath until their faces turned blue–we chose to print them.

So here are three poems submitted anonymously to The Maze earlier this year:

I. Untitled Prose Poem

Ever since yesterday, when she left, I can’t write or draw. My ink is flowing wrong. Forgetting letters in some weak hope that if I save them I’ll use them again later in the perfect poem or text that will pour cement into the ventricles in my heart and wouldn’t leak. There is no poetry, no words flowing from my heart’s gaping leak, it makes no sense that when a leak is formed nothing pours out, nothing rushes from the capacity of my heart. The worst part, and maybe this is why, is that she loved me. Till the end and still does, but she left me because she wasn’t ready for a relationship and she didn’t want to hurt me. I begged her to stay, to reconsider. For it to just be a break, for us to last longer. For her to kiss me goodbye and she’d fall in love with me again when our lips met. She said she just needed some time, nothing final.

II. Untitled Prose Poem

There is no more Charles MGH stop. There is no more train over the Charles – in fact, there is no more Charles. The Red Line has been disbanded, the bridge rusted over and crumbled. The water below now completely evaporated, leaving lines of sediment, dead fish, and trash rotting at the bottom. The lush greenery that lined the river is gone. All dried up and shriveled away. There is nothing left but a dry channel where a great river once was.

III. Untitled Poem

I remember the feeling of the pale blue water lapping gently against my white sands. That’s what I remember most of all. The one almost constant through all the years.
I remember when it was five people and some sheep and how peaceful it was and how lonely.
I remember watching each slab get put in place and each stone wear smooth from visitor feet and prayerful knees.
I remember sunny skies and rain (so much rain) and tiny green pebbles. I remember community and boats and the ever-lasting “om.” I remember family and hope and first (second, third) love.
I remember being me.